


An Afternoon Stroll

by Filmsterr



Series: A Gentleman Caller [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Historical, Blacksmith Dean, Engagement, Established Relationship, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Kissing, M/M, Past Dean/Other(s), Self-Esteem Issues, Virgin Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-08
Updated: 2017-09-08
Packaged: 2018-12-23 23:44:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12000426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Filmsterr/pseuds/Filmsterr
Summary: “Oh, no reason to act all prudish like that,” she muses, “I’m sure it’s nothing you’re unfamiliar with yourself.”He can’t help it: the color in his cheeks darkens to a much deeper red and he feels heat rising up the back of his neck. “I don’t know what you mean.”Meg saunters right up to him, places her fingers on his collar and adjusts it for him. “I just mean now that you and Dean are engaged, is all.”“Well, yes, but…. we aren’t married yet.”Meg’s eyebrows shoot up, and the look on her face changes from the menacing look that had been there before. “Oh, well I just figured…”





	An Afternoon Stroll

Castiel hums happily to himself as he glides down the dirt path leading out of town. The sun kisses his skin, and it pleases him endlessly-- though, truthfully, there are other kisses he’d rather have at the moment. 

He’s just come from the market, sent off by his mother to do the week’s shopping. It’s a task he used to whine and complain about… though his attitude about the request had changed drastically in the past few weeks. Now, he can’t volunteer quick enough before he’s bounding out the door. 

Because, now, the market has certain attractions which had never made themselves known before. 

He likes to make a game of it: to pretend this time he might not visit. To see how long he can go without acknowledging the pair of eyes that stalk him everywhere he goes. He flits from booth to booth, picking up bits of produce and game, loaves of bread and bottles of cream. But, always, he ends up at the very same place. 

His fingers slide over the smooth edge of a crucifix, and he smiles at the feel. Dean has been working hard lately. Castiel feels a surge of pride at that.  

“You’re looking awful pretty today, Cas,” calls a low voice from behind the. He looks up to see strong hands polishing the blade of a sword, and has to bite on his lip in order to keep his thoughts to himself.  

The things Dean does to him, honestly. It’s improper, and totally out of character for Castiel. That being said, he doesn’t entirely mind the change... 

He saunters around the side of the wooden table that displays Dean’s wares and leans in to ensure that Dean gets a whiff of the sprigs of lavender he rubbed on himself during the walk here. 

“You’re too kind, sir,” he flirts, allowing his face to hover in dangerously close to Dean’s, “but please, don’t gaze at me so. I can't have it. I’m newly engaged, you know.”

Dean rolls his eyes and takes a step backward. “Cas,” he admonishes. But he likes the teasing. Castiel knows. 

“May I have a kiss?” the younger man asks, batting his eyelashes in that way he also knows that Dean likes. 

But the blacksmith doesn’t fall for it. “Not here.” When Castiel pouts, he adds, “We’re in public, it’s…. unbecoming. I’ll come to take you on a walk after I close up the shop here.”

Castiel fights back the urge to release a groan. Truth be told, he is getting a little tired of these daily constitutionals. The time with Dean is a blessing, of course: each day he falls more wildly in love with him. But, he despises that their time together is limited. He just wants to be married to Dean already. Desperately.

Instead, he smiles. Any time spends with Dean is more than he should be grateful for. “Alright. As long as you promise.”

Dean nods, that look of earnest dedication set in his jaw. “For you, I am a man of my word. Always.”

Oh, how badly Castiel wants to kiss his fiancé. But, for Dean, he can be patient. Difficult as it may be. For Dean, he could be anything.

He does allow himself to trace a finger lightly down the exposed and taut skin of Dean’s muscular forearm, and for a single charged gaze to liner between them. At least now he knows that when Dean comes for him later, he will be in a fit of anticipation.

Not that he’s ever found him in any other state, but still. 

So he takes his leave then, happy to keep enough of an air about him that when he turns around, he discovers that Dean’s eyes have followed him hungrily all the while he’s been walking away. 

So it is that he is now walking down the road home with a certain spring in his step. He’s young and he’s in love and the air is fresh and the birds are singing. 

A little ways before he arrives home, he spies the open door of a barn on the Master’s property. He thinks it a little odd, and possibly dangerous, so he decides to wander over and right the situation.  

He’s just about the lay a hand on the thick, wooden door-- when he stops suddenly. There are noises coming from inside the barn. Noises that he isn’t quite able to identify. 

The sound of slapping of some kind, and a rustling of fabric. Or maybe that’s hay. And is someone breathing heavily? Is someone in distress inside?

When he hears a woman’s high-pitched cry calling out sharply from inside, Castiel bursts through the doorway, hoping to startle any intruders with malice in their hearts. 

What he finds, however, is something very different all together. 

A boy around his own age staring back at him in horror, with his trousers pooled around his ankles. Behind him, young Meg Masters with her skirt hiked up to her waist, her cheeks all flushed and her eyes half-closed like she’s drunk too much ale. 

Castiel freezes. He averts his eyes immediately. “I-I’m terribly sorry, I didn’t… I thought…"

But it’s too late. The other boy has pulled up his pants and run off through the other side of the barn. Cas winces, unable to believe his own thoughtlessness. Across the barn, Meg chuckles low and hops off the bale of hay, adjusts her skirt and approaches the young would-be hero. 

“Meg, I don’t even know what to say. I... I’m so embarrassed.”

“No need to worry yourself,” she smiles, though there’s something dark in the look on her face that sets Cas on edge, “Little Clarence over there’s just a little skittish. Takes off at the slightest sign of anything.” She shrugs casually. “I figure it’s because he knows that my daddy would take a shotgun to his behind the very moment he found us out here wrestling like two hogs.”

Castiel blushes dark rouge at the vulgarity of her language. He’s never heard lovemaking described like that before. Meg chides her tongue against her teeth and takes a step closer to him. 

“Oh, no reason to act all prudish like that,” she muses, “I’m sure it’s nothing you’re unfamiliar with yourself.”

He can’t help it: the color in his cheeks darkens to a much deeper red and he feels heat rising up the back of his neck. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Meg saunters right up to him, places her fingers on his collar and adjusts it for him. “I just mean now that you and Dean are engaged, is all.”

“Well, yes, but…. we aren’t married yet.”

Meg’s eyebrows shoot up, and the look on her face changes from the menacing look that had been there before. “Oh, well I just figured…” 

“Figured what?” Castiel cuts off nervously. The skin on the back of his neck has begun to sweat lightly. He doesn’t like the way she’s talking right now, he wishes he’d never set foot in this nasty old barn. 

She takes another step back and shrugs casually, though Castiel can see right through that faux-innocence. “I figured what with Dean’s past and all, that the officials wouldn’t matter too much to you two, is all.”

Cas feels like his heart might have just stopped inside his chest. “Dean’s past?” he echoes, unable to do anything else. “What past? What do you mean?” 

Meg’s eyes go wide at the question, and she takes one large step backward, away from him. “I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s not my place.”

“No, Meg, please, I want to know, what--”

“I think you’d better ask your lover-- or, your fiancé about that himself,” she cuts him off, insistently, and pushes him out the door of the barn. He goes to turn his head around one more time, to beg her to clarify what she’s said-- but before he can, he’s back out in the road, and the door has been slammed in his face. 

And so he’s left there, alone with his thoughts. He doesn't know what to think. He knows nothing of this "past" Meg had mentioned so casually. Does everyone know something he doesn't? Something lurid about his betrothed? 

The very idea makes Castiel feel sick to his stomach. Sullenly, he returns to his path home, hanging his head as he walks. 

It’s been almost a month since Dean had come to ask for his hand, and in that time Castiel had gotten to know so much about his intended. Or, at least, he'd thought he did. He knows about Dean’s parents, how they met and married, and Sam, his younger brother whom he loves half to death. He knows that Dean’s father trained him extensively in weapons and combat, and that he learned blacksmithing from his uncle Bobby. 

He knows that Dean enjoys cooking for himself, though he’d be furious if the fellows down at the pub ever found out, and that when he brings Castiel flowers, he’ll always choose daisies because they make him smile, and because he wants to make Castiel smile.

But he doesn’t know anything about this “past” to which Meg has alluded. The way she said it, Cas can only infer that the details are… sordid. 

He returns home after a short walk, and delivers the shopping to his mother in silence. His father asks after him, but Castiel ignores the calls. He strolls right through the house, out into the yard, and takes a seat under one of his favorite trees. It’s a good spot to sit and wonder, which is exactly what he needs to do right now.

Cas might still have his purity, but he isn’t totally without knowledge. He understands what Meg was suggesting, indelicately as she was: there are rumors abound about Dean. That he’s slept with others, before. That he’s given them his body, and that he’s taken theirs in kind. 

Thinking of it has Castiel feeling cold inside and out. He stares out at the landscape in front of him with eyes dead as can be. It’s not as if it’s uncommon, men taking lovers before their wedding.  He just… hadn’t known Dean to be the type.

It’s just that he’s so lovely, and so attentive, and romantic. When he looks at Castiel, the younger man really gets the feeling as if he might just be the very center of the universe. Is this how the others felt, before? When Dean held them and breathed heavy into their necks. Did he run his fingers through their hair like he did Castiel's? Did he tell them how he loved them, couldn't live without them?

“Hey, Cas." 

He raises his eyes to find Dean standing over him, looking down. His fiancé offers a hand, and Castiel takes it, allowing himself to be raised to his feet. Dean smiles, stroking his thumb over the back of Cas’ hand. 

“I was looking for you in the house,” he says, his voice as low and enticing as ever, “I’ve come for the walk I promised you.”

He makes no move to give a kiss to Castiel’s lips, but the anticipation in his actions is clear. It instantly makes Cas feel a spark inside him, followed by a quick recoil as he returns to his previous thoughts. 

He pulls his lips into a half smile and turns away, tugging Dean by the hand. “Come on, then. Let’s not waste time.” And off they go.

Their route is well-traversed by now, always walking along the same narrow dirt trail. Through the trees, over the little stream-- and lately, past the large rock formation into a small clearing just there. It’s full of plush green grass that’s nice to lie in, and far from the view of any prying eyes that could be lurking. 

It’s a fine place for two young lovers to spend long afternoons, and Dean and Castiel have already grown attached to it as the one place they can be free from the rest of the world. Normally they'll take their time, lying in the grass, looking into each other's eyes. Sometimes they dance, without needing any music. But today is different. 

As soon as they enter the clearing, Castiel pounces on Dean, pushing his back up against one of the large rocks and attacking his lips with an extra passion. Dean easily relents to it all, his two strong hands immediately going to grab Castiel’s hips as he pulls his fiancé closer.

A few frantic whimpers come from Castiel, and Dean responds with his own low moans. “Oh, that’s nice,” he whispers, letting his lips mark a trail from Cas’ jaw to his ear, “You feel so good. I've missed you so much, all day.”

He’s moving slow and intimate, like he’s cherishing the way Castiel feels in his hands-- but that’s not what Cas needs right now. He moves his own fingers down to the front of Dean’s pants and begins to palm awkwardly at the crotch area, something he's never done before. But he needs to now, needs to let Dean know that he's willing. 

“Hey, there. Slow down,” Dean tries to murmur against Castiel’s lips, pulling his meddling hands away. “What are you doing?” 

“Let’s not wait, Dean,” Cas huffs, struggling with the buckle of Dean’s belt. “Make love to me now, here.”

Dean grabs at his wrists to halt Castiel’s movement. His eyes pin Castiel to the spot, and his voice is firm. “Cas, stop it.”

The trees stir around them. Wind brushes through Castiel’s disheveled locks. His teeth bite down on his plump lower lip. 

“I don’t want to wait any more,” he mutters, and even to himself he sounds like an insolent child, “That’s another two whole months and I can’t stand it.” 

His eyes have shifted downward, shamefully, but he can still see the way that Dean is peering down at him: like he’s confused, almost hurt. Cas doesn’t know what to do with himself. He doesn't like behaving this way, but what else can he do? He fears losing Dean more than anything in this world. He needs to show him that he's an adult, too. That he'll do whatever it takes. 

“Where’d this idea come from, huh?” Dean is asking, rough fingers smoothing over Castiel’s cheek. 

Cas doesn't say anything, just keeps staring Dean right in the chest. The older man repeats himself, and his tone is more forceful now. “Cas.”

Something shivers in Castiel’s spine at the way Dean sounds, and he doesn’t know whether it’s fear or excitement. “I don’t see why we should bother. No one saves themselves for marriage anymore.”

Dean rolls his eyes as if this juvenile train of thought is somehow boring to him. “I don’t give a good god damn about anyone else. My only concern is with you, and _your_ virtue.”

He sounds sweet and genuine, and it’s quite apparent that he is sincere in his feelings. Still, Castiel hears himself burst out like a spoiled brat, “Well, I don’t give a damn about my virtue.” 

Dean uses the hand that had been gently stroking his face to grab at Castiel’s chin and force him to be looking eye-to-eye. “Well, I do.”

The sentences hangs there like the limb of a tree. Castiel swallows audibly. There’s a tension between them, unlike any other time they’ve been here together. Before, it was a sexually charged energy that had them pawing at each other like wild animals. Now, it’s a sort of subdued anger that for a moment has Castiel worried he’s marrying another Michael. 

With Dean's hand still on his chin, Cas levels his eyes to look into Dean's piercing green irises. He loves those eyes, he has from the very first time they'd met his own over the table at the market some weeks before. 

He wonders if he has to worry about them. If there will ever come a time when they are filled with malice, or disdain, or possibly worst of all, indifference. 

Castiel drops his eyes to Dean's lips, and expels a old sigh. The comparison is unfair, he knows its the moment that the dots connect in his head. Dean is nothing like Michael, and he never will be. He’ll never be cruel or useless, he’ll never fail to provide or squander their lives away on reckless habits. And most importantly, Castiel will never show up with mysterious bruises on his face and arms. 

Dean is a good man, and he loves Castiel very much. Whatever else might be uncertain, those two things are true. 

Dean’s grip tightens on Castiel’s arm, and he’s shaken back to his thoughts. Dean’s emerald eyes are looking at him in a certain way. It makes Castiel feel safe and protected. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on here?” 

Cas squirms. Honestly, he’s really liking the feeling of being pinned down by Dean’s toned arms, but that’s something he’ll have to revisit later. 

For now, he casts his eyes to the ground once more and murmurs a confession. “I’ve never… been with anyone.”

Dean’s hands loosen minutely and his face move in closer to Castiel’s. Something like understanding comes over his face. “I know that,” he whispers solemnly, “I know you’re a good boy.”

A thick pause follows during which time Cas thinks a similar admission might spring forth from Dean’s lips. But, no such thing happens. Dean only stares at him more gently until Castiel can’t take it anymore. 

“But... but you…”

The hands wrapped around Castiel’s go slack as Dean comprehends what he’s trying to say.  

“What have you heard?” He asks it plainly, without decoration. There's no need to waste time on any embarrassment or anger. Pragmatic as ever, Castiel thinks. 

Castiel can barely force himself to speak. “Things.”

“Things from who?”

“I doubt that it matters.” He can't look at Dean down. If he looked into his eyes, he's afraid of what he'll find there. Maybe lies. Or maybe something true, that will hurt him much deeper. “It’s not as if I supposed you were a virgin, it’s just that…” 

Dean lays his hand once more on Castiel's chin, but this time he doesn't force it. He waits patiently, for Castiel to look at him. His voice is soft and his eyes are begging. “What?” he prompts, sounding smaller than Cas has ever heard before 

“It hurts. To know that I’m not your first, your only.”

It’s conflicting, the way he feels right now. His first instinct is to pull away, to make himself physically independent of Dean, the object of his sadness. And yet he’s so vulnerable, all he wants is to be curled in Dean’s arms. 

He holds his breath while he attempts to decide between the two. Before he can exhale, Dean swoops in, pulling Castiel tight into his arms and murmuring truths into the crook of his ear. “Castiel, you listen to me. Please. If I could go back and wipe out all of that, I would.”

He pulls his head back so that they can look into each other's faces. Cas has never seen a more honest look on anyone's face in all of his seventeen years. “And while I can’t change that for you-- I can’t make you my first or my only-- I can promise you that you will be my last, and my greatest.” Dean moves in so that his lips are very, very near to Castiel's. “And… my only love.”

Cas takes in a breath to calm himself. “Really?” he asks, trying not to sound as fragile as he feels. 

Deans looks at him in that way he had on the very day they got engaged. It was a look that promised Castiel he would always take care of him. “What did I say about being a man of my word?”

Cas shrinks into himself, satisfied by Dean’s words. Anything Dean says to him has ten times the weight of anyone else he knows. Meg can keep her rumors and her filth. He has no need for any of that. 

He will admit, he feels a bit foolish for pitching a fit the way he had. He’d always tried to seem grown up and mature around Dean, like a man who was in charge of his own emotions. He should apologize, he thinks. He wants to make sure that their marriage will start out on the best terms possible. 

He’s just opened his mouth to do so, when his lips clamp shut without his brain’s approval. Dean’s hands have gone to his sides now, just below his ribs. It’s a spot that feels both tickling and dangerously good, and he chews on his lower lip to stop any offending sounds from escaping is mouth. 

Dean’s eyes trail over him slowly, raking over all his features. They’re wide and his pupils are large. Cas doesn’t know why, but looking at them contributes to the danger building inside him at the moment. 

“I don’t know what it is about you, Cas,” he’s saying, and the way his voice sounds causes a stirring in Castiel's trousers, “if it’s those big, plush lips, or your slim, little body, or the way your hair always looks a little tousled like you just got…" Dean releases a charged sigh, and Castiel's pants grow tighter, "but when I kiss you, it’s better than anything I’ve ever done with anyone else. _Anything_.” 

Castiel’s breathe freezes in his throat. He blinks once, slowly. “You mean that?” he whispers, quiet as can be. 

“I do,” Dean answers with the utmost sincerity. His face drifts in toward’s Castiel like the softest rush of wind, and Cas can only watch in rapt fixation as he brings his lips to Castiel’s in what seems like devotion. 

The embrace starts as chaste, almost reverent-- just little strokes of lips connecting. But before long, their hands are tangled up in each other, and Castiel is once again pinned beneath those rippling muscles and it feels so good that he can’t imagine anything ever being better than this. 

Dean nips down toward his neck-- gentle, little things, careful not to leave a mark. His lips find Castiel’s ear, and his rough voice makes a promise into the shell. “On our wedding day, when I finally get to have you all to myself, I’m going to throw you onto our bed and have my way with you until you’re out of your right mind with pleasure.”

What that would look like, Castiel has no idea, but the thought of it is already driving him wild. The thought that Dean wants to give him pleasure, wants to make him feel good; to have a man like that, all to himself. 

To be his _only love_. 

Cas decides right then and there that he doesn’t care about anything else. He's quite alright with what he's got. And for now, he smiles, pressed up against Dean with his big muscles, listening to all the things he wants to do to Castiel once they officially belong to each other.  

\---- 

And for the record, Dean does deliver on his wedding night promise. When the festivities end, and the newly wedded couple return to their new marriage home for the evening, the door is barely closed before clothes are being ripped off and the two of them are a sweaty, singular beast on the bed, huffing and groaning and moaning. Both of their dress shirts are lost to the cause. Afterward, Castiel promptly declares it to be the best night of his life. Dean doesn’t waste to breathe to tell him the same. 


End file.
